


good things grow here

by crashing_into_the_sun



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: (very very minor), Angst, Flowers, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gardening, Happy Ending, High School, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Normal!AU, One Shot, Semi-Slow Burn, baz works in a flower shop, i mean vaguely slow, midpaced burn, this goes over a span of several years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 07:05:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crashing_into_the_sun/pseuds/crashing_into_the_sun
Summary: When Simon moves in next door to Baz, they become fast friends. As the years pass, Baz's feelings develop into something more. Falling in love in four parts.





	good things grow here

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit late due to computer malfunctions and overall laziness, but I hope you enjoy! Thanks to @infinityonhighvevo on tumblr for all their help betaing this fic!

_ part one- daffodil. new beginnings.  _

 

There was a boy in the house next door, dancing in the window. 

His curtains were ajar, sunlight streaming in and setting his bronze curls alight. They gleamed as he shook them about foolishly, as if each curl was a bit of gold. From his place on the lawn, Baz could just hear the undercurrent of a bass rhythm, coming from the boy’s room. He smiled to himself without thinking about it, surprised and endeared by the boy’s uninhibited joy.

The family who lived there now– the Salisburys– had moved in just three days before. Baz hadn’t been home at the time, but he heard his father making a racket about how  _ disorganized _ those people were.  _ The mother _ , Malcolm had said in shock,  _ came out of the vehicle barefoot and in pajamas. _ As though it were the worst type of travesty to travel in comfort. To Malcolm’s great chagrin, there was no father in sight.

Now wouldn’t it be funny, Baz thought as he tore another weed from the dirt, if Malcolm were to find Baz fraternizing with that neighbor boy? He stole another glance toward the window, and laughed aloud when he saw the boy brandishing a kitchen ladle as a makeshift microphone. That, he thought, would really set his father off. He stood up and brushed the dirt from his hands onto his jeans. Daphne wouldn’t be pleased with the stains, but they were ruined already. He’d been kneeling on the wet grass for so long that the knees were soaked and green. 

There was no car in the other driveway. The boy in the window was, it seemed, home alone. Baz shucked his shoes for no other reason than to spite his father, and made his way to the other lawn. He knelt down to pick up a small pebble and threw it up toward the boy’s window.

Baz was a terrible shot. It bounced off the house three feet left of the window and far too low. He tried again, this time, succeeding in hitting the glass. The boy jumped and dropped his ladle, clamoring to shut off his music. He threw open his window and poked his head out.

“What d’you want?” he shouted at Baz, cheeks red from exertion and embarrassment. 

Baz looked up, suddenly bashful. Closer now, he could see the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of the boy’s nose, could see how plump and red his lips were, and the bright, laser blue focus of his eyes. “I live next door,” Baz responded, conscious now of how disheveled he was in his dirty jeans and old, too-small t-shirt. “Would you like to come help me with my garden? I could use some company.”

The boy ran his hands through his hair, mussing it up even more than it already was. “What do you need help with?”

“I’m just watering and weeding, then I’ve got to do a bit of fertilizer. The daffodils are looking sort of limp.” It didn’t sound incredibly exciting, now that he’d said it out loud. Baz frowned. “I thought you might want to get out of the house. You could pick a bouquet for your mum, if you wanted.” Now, why had he offered that? Nobody was allowed to cut his flowers. Baz’s frown deepened, but the curly-haired boy just grinned.

“Sure! Mum’d love a bouquet. Down in a minute.” The window slammed, giving Baz a start, and in a flash the boy was whirling out the door and down the porch stairs.

“I’m Simon,” he said, holding out his hand to Baz. He smelled of sweat and mint. In his other hand were two chocolate chip cookies. “Would you like one?”

Baz shook Simon’s hand and introduced himself, biting down gratefully into the soft cookie. “These are good,” he said through a full mouth, and Simon beamed.

“I made them,” he boasted, following Baz over to the garden. “They’re a day old, but my secret to keeping them soft is putting some white bread in with them in the container.” He paused to gulp down the last bit of the sweet before continuing. “I know a little about baking, but nothing about gardening. You’ll have to give me a hand with that.”

“It’s nothing hard that we’ve got to do. Not like transplanting or cross pollination.  I’ve just got a simple garden. It started out as a school project last year for my Botany class, but I’ve grown to quite like it.”

“You talk so posh,” he commented, kneeling down like Baz and watching, then copying, as he pulled the weeds. “I doubt you’ve ever said a cuss word in your life.”

Baz spluttered. “I’ve said a cuss word. I’m not a baby, I’m  _ fourteen _ . Of course I’ve said a cuss word. I just know how to speak properly. There’s no shame in that.”

“‘Course not,” Simon said teasingly, glancing up through his eyelashes at Baz. “Nothing wrong with being a goody-goody.”

Baz turned up his chin, defiant, but a smile played at his lips nevertheless. “I’m not a goody-goody. I speak the Queen’s English.”

“ _ I speak the Queen’s English _ ,” Simon mimicked, puffing out his chest. He tugged a weed out from the dirt and balled it up in his fist, torpedoing it toward Baz’s chest. The dirt exploded on impact, clinging in bits to his t-shirt.

Baz’s jaw gaped open. “You did  _ not _ just do that,” he said. He felt his face go hot, looking at the devilish smirk on Simon’s face. Simon’s curls blew gently in the breeze, and his fingers drummed impatient patterns on his leg. Baz reached toward the garden.

Weeds and grass flew through the air, haphazard, a storm of green, and a symphony of laughter echoed from Simon and Baz. It felt warmer, Baz noticed, warmer and happier, like they’d been covered by a blanket of goodness. Simon grabbed Baz by the arm and shoved and handful of greens down the back of his t-shirt. Everything was yellow-sunshine-daisies-pure-fucking-glee, everything was heat on the back of Baz’s neck where Simon’s fingers lingered for a second too long, everything was blades of grass floating all around them like fairies before fluttering lightly to the ground.

Everything was Simon. Everything was good.

 

_ part two- ivy. friendship. _

 

The leaves were just beginning to turn in the fall after Simon’s fifteenth birthday before Baz brought Simon back to the garden. “Come and buy wood and nails and things with me,” he said as they exited the school building. It was still hot and muggy, and bugs still buzzed through the air. The straps on Simon’s backpack were getting too tight on his ever-broadening shoulders, the sleeves of his hand-me-down tees stretching over his arms where they had been loose a year before. “I want to make a little fence.”

“What for?” Simon asked, looking back over his shoulder at Baz. His trademark curls were gone except for a swath of the on the top, which bounced as he walked. He’d cropped his hair close at the beginning of the year-- something about Agatha saying he looked like a mop. Baz didn’t like it, but he kept his mouth shut. 

“I’m planting ivy in the garden and I don’t know how to work a hammer. You should help.” It sounded dumb, ‘don’t know how to work a hammer’, but it was true. As Simon grew stronger and broader and bigger, Baz grew lanky and delicate. He was the taller of the two, but his fingers were knobbly and thin like a skeleton and his wrists were as big around as most of the girls’. His growth spurt had hit him hard the month after he’d first met Simon, but rather than becoming gangly and clumsy, Baz had transformed into something lithe and dainty. His skinny fingers couldn’t use a work tool, but they could fly over the strings of a violin with unimaginable grace.

Baz couldn’t tell if he was jealous of Simon’s physique or simply entranced by it. Jealous, he figured. The muscles in Simon’s back were apparent through the thin, worn t-shirt in a way Baz’s would never be as he swung the backpack off his shoulders and began searching through it for his cell phone. “I’ll ask Mum,” he told Baz, already so sure his mother would say yes that he was headed in the direction of town instead of home. Lucy was rather fond of the Pitch children, though not so fond of their parentage.

“I can help you with your maths after we’re finished if you still need it,” Baz said, shuffling quicker to catch up to Simon. They fell into step as Simon talked with Lucy.

“Can I head out with- yes, with Baz. No, just to town. We’re making something for the garden. Yes. Yes. Love you!” Simon hung up the phone and tucked it into his pants pocket, then put the backpack on again. “Where are we headed?”

“I dunno, you’re the tool guy. Do I look like I know where to buy a hammer?”

“Oh, stop it with the hammers. You know what a hardware store is,” Simon chastised, rifling his hand through Baz’s hair teasingly. “Anyway, you don’t have to buy a hammer. I own a hammer. And I assure you they’re not hard to use.”

Baz fixed his hair, feigning annoyance. “Whatever you say, Salisbury.”

“You know I hate that,” Simon said, pushing into Baz with his shoulder. Baz pushed back. “Call me by my name.”

“Salisbury is your name,” Baz said with a smirk. They’d had this conversation, word for word, millions of times. He could mouth along with what Simon was going to say next.

“My  _ first _ name, you dolt.” It was an unspoken agreement that the conversation went this way exactly and then they changed the subject. 

“So, how are things with Agatha?” Baz asked, sorry the moment it came out of his mouth. He hadn’t meant the words to come out with such sharp edges, but they’d done so anyway. It was too venomous, too harsh, too little like he actually wanted to know, so he adjusted and continued, softer. “Did you ask her on that date after all?”

“No,” Simon confessed, sheepish. “I chickened out. But she’s been texting me all week. I think I’ll see if she wants to study on Saturday.”

“I thought we were going to go on a hike on Saturday,” Baz said, trying his hardest to keep his voice steady. It wasn’t that he was jealous, he thought, he just missed having Simon’s attention. Okay, so that sounded jealous. Baz furrowed his eyebrows.

“You didn’t even want to go,” Simon said, and Baz hated how apologetic he sounded. “I figured you wouldn’t mind. I can change it to Sunday, if you want, but she goes to church so I thought-”

“Don’t worry,” Baz interrupted. He smiled at Simon. “More Netflix time for me. Have fun. ‘Study’.” He air-quoted around the word study, and Simon sputtered.

“We  _ will _ study,” he laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t think anything will happen.”

Something about the phrasing made Baz’s skin itch. He waited for a few seconds in silence, listening to their footsteps in synch, crunching over the dirt on the sidewalk. “Do you want something to happen?”

Simon looked at the ground, and Baz watched a flush creep over his cheeks. “I dunno, maybe. I mean, no. Well…” he trailed off, then flicked his eyes up to meet Baz’s. Baz looked away.

“I- I see why you would,” he stuttered, speaking too quick. “She’s hot.” He knew the words were false coming out of his mouth, but he hoped Simon wouldn’t pick up on his hesitance. 

“Yeah, she is,” Simon grinned. Baz let out a breath. “But I don’t think I want to hook up with her, at least not yet. We’re barely even friends.”

“Is being friends a prerequisite?” Baz asked as they turned into the parking lot of the hardware store. The building smelled strongly of wood chips and sawdust, and the lettering of the sign was fading. Baz had been inside only once, with Mordelia, to pick up supplies for a birdhouse she wanted to build with Daphne. 

Bells tinkled as Simon swung the door open. “Yeah, definitely,” he responded as Baz caught the door with his hand and entered the building. It was colder inside than it was outside, and Baz felt goosebumps prick his arms. “I wouldn’t hook up with someone I didn’t like.”

“Me neither. I’d…” Baz reached out and brushed his finger against the wind chimes hanging by the cash register. “I’d want it to be a good friend.”

 

-

 

Sweat trickled down Simon’s forehead as they stood looking at the finished fence. It was huge, taking up the entire side of the garden, which was the length of Baz’s larger-than-average house. Baz reached up and wiped the sweat off of Simon’s face, then wiped it on his pants. 

Simon’s eyes widened, and his eyebrows knitted together. “What?” Baz asked, defensive, tucking his hands in his pockets and taking a step away. “Was that weird?”

“Nah,” Simon said after a minute, his cheeks pink from embarrassment or exertion. Baz couldn’t tell which. He looked down at his shoes, then bent down to readjust the loose laces. “It looks good!” Simon interjected, too loud, waving an arm in the direction of the fence. He was right. It did look good, and they’d done it together. He swallowed his pride and let himself smile.

“Thanks for the help,” he said. He ran one finger across the smooth wood of the fence, then turned back and faced Simon fully. Simon’s light blue tank top had pit stains and a spaghetti stain on the front, and the boy himself smelled like fresh-cut grass and a high school locker room. Baz felt his eyes dragging down to Simon’s neck, to his Adam’s apple, and he shot them back up toward Simon’s face with a frightening urgency. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Sure,” Simon replied, a look Baz couldn’t place crossing his face. “I’ve, uh… gotta get home. For dinner.”

“It’s only five o’clock,” Baz said quietly, but Simon had already turned his back. Baz stared at the fence. The sound of Simon’s retreating footsteps left him feeling empty and alone. Long after the sound had subsided, he stood there, alone, empty, empty, alone. Baz flung the hammer clenched in his fist to the ground, digging the back deep into the grass, and tore into the house.

Tears blurred his vision as he stormed up the porch stairs and flung the door open, not caring if it closed behind him. No one was home, and he was thankful for that as choked sobs escaped unbidden from his throat. He crashed through the halls, knocking down a laundry basket and kicking off one shoe, before reaching the bathroom and locking himself inside before even turning on the light. Simon thought he was a freak. He  _ was _ a freak. 

It was no longer something Baz could ignore, the way he looked at Simon, the way he felt about Simon. He plugged the drain and turned the faucet on as hot as it would go. Steam rose out of the tub. Baz pulled his shirt off by the back of the neck and threw it into a ball in the corner, soon followed by his pants. His reflection mocked him in the mirror. It showed him a sad boy, waifish and dark, greasy-haired and made of sharp pieces. Sharp bones, sharp features, sharp shards of shame burying themselves deep in his skin. His skin was cold. His hands were shaking. He sank into the scalding water, curled up, and cried.

He could do better. He would do better. For Simon– if Baz lost Simon, he’d have nothing left. 

 

_ part three- sunflower. adoration _

 

The tile of Simon’s bedroom floor was cold. He and Baz sat close, knee to knee, as the movie played in the background. Neither boy paid much attention to the screen. It was The Fox and The Hound, a movie they’d both seen (and cried over) too many times to count. 

“If I make more popcorn, will you eat some?” Simon asked, breaking the silence. He shook the empty popcorn bowl in his hand.

“Probably not,” Baz responded, tapping the cool blue glass of the bowl with one finger. 

“I’m doing it anyway,” Simon announced, not surprisingly. He got up and exited, leaving the door ajar.

Baz relaxed onto the foot of Simon’s bed, letting his head sag against his chest and his eyes fall shut. He clasped his hands in his lap. This room smelled just like Simon, like cinnamon and boyhood. The edge of a sweatshirt lazily draped over the bed frame tickled the side of Baz’s face. It was homier in here than anywhere in Baz’s whole house.

Baz heard the happy noises of Simon bumbling around in the kitchen just a few rooms over, and he smiled to himself. Simon had never been a graceful person. Baz reached for the remote and turned the volume down so he could hear Simon hum off-key. “Hello my baby, hello my honey…” Simon mumbled, audible in between the crashes and clanks of him moving around.

“Wanna spend the night?” Simon asked when he came back in. The smell of popcorn drifted in with him, and Baz decided he would take a handful or two.

“I’m afraid I can’t. I’ve got to work in the morning.”

Simon groaned and sat down on the floor next to Baz, their legs touching from hip to knee. He set the bowl of popcorn on Baz’s lap. The bottom was almost uncomfortably hot, but Baz let him do it anyway. “I don’t understand why you’ve gotta be there at 7 in the goddamn morning anyway.”

“The growing plants all need to be watered very early, and the cut ones need to be misted. I’ve only explained this ten billion times.” Baz let himself enjoy the closeness of Simon’s leg on his for one second more before he shifted away, setting the snack bowl between them. Simon looked at him, then cocked his head.

“Is everything alright, Basil? You’ve been….” he trailed off, then stuck his hand into the bowl. “Nevermind,” he said through a mouthful of popcorn.

“No, it’s alright. I’ve been what?”

“Just distant, I guess.” Simon said after a pause, then swallowed. “Is all the touching weirding you out? My family is just really affectionate. I can stop. I don’t want to freak you out. It’s not like that, I swear.”

“Oh.”  _ Not like that. _ “No, it’s fine. I don’t mind it. Actually, I thought maybe you did.” Baz forced a laugh.

“Really?” Simon asked. His face relaxed. “No, I totally don’t. I.. I like being close to you. You know. I like being close to people.” They looked at each other for a minute. Baz cleared his throat.

“I could hang out after work tomorrow. I’ve been meaning to add something to the garden, and we have these little sunflowers that are begging to be replanted. I thought they’d love the fence we did for the ivy.”

“Oh!” Simon squealed like a child, shooting up and clapping his hands together. Baz laughed aloud at the exaggerated response. “Sunflowers are my absolute  _ favorite _ . You know flower meanings and stuff, right? From doing bouquets? What do they mean?”

Baz smiled. Simon’s eagerness was contagious. “You actually don’t really need to know flower meanings to put together bouquets. Just what’s appropriate for what occasion. I do happen to know what sunflowers mean from my own personal research, though.”

“What are they?” 

“Well,” Baz said, uncrossing his legs and stretching them out, “they have a few meanings. One of them is joy. Loyalty, hope.”

Unnoticed, the movie ended. Simon set the snack bowl down near Baz’s feet and scooted closer to him once again. This time Baz didn’t move. “You’re my best friend, Baz,” Simon whispered, looking at the dirt stains on his jeans.

Baz grabbed Simon’s shoulder and squeezed. “You’re mine, too.” Simon looked up at Baz, a small smile on his face.

“Sunflowers have another meaning, you know,” Baz said after a minute, removing his hand from Simon’s shoulder and putting it in his own lap. 

“What’s that?”

“Adoration.”

 

-

  
  


Simon was having another nightmare. Baz could tell.

Summer was coming to a close, things were dying all around them. The sunflowers were taller than both of them now, but the petals were falling fast. This was Simon’s least favorite time of year. Deterioration seeped through the air and into his bones.

He twitched and jerked, wrapping the sheets around himself. Sweat soaked his forehead, tears streamed from his sleeping eyes. He made no sounds. Simon had told Baz before not to worry about his nightmares. Not to wake him up. That he didn’t need comfort.

“Simon,” Baz whispered, sitting up further from where he’d been sleeping on the floor next to the bed. “Simon!” Baz stopped, waited, then sat on the edge of the bed. “Si, you gotta.. You gotta wake up. Come on, it’s alright.” He shook Simon’s shoulder, softly at first, then harder when he got no response.

“Wha-” Simon shot up as quick as a bullet, eyes wild and bloodshot. He grabbed Baz’s wrist, grip tight, and sniffled.

“I’m here, don’t worry. Just a dream. Just a dream.” Baz murmured. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Baz?” Simon asked, his voice cracking. Baz nodded. “Oh. Oh. Don’t, um. Don’t worry. I’m okay. Go back to sleep.” 

“No, you’re not. I’m going to make you some tea.” Baz moved to get up, but before he could turn his back, Simon’s hand grasped the back of his shirt.

“Don’t wanna be alone,” Simon said, his breath still coming fast and heavy. “Don’t leave.”

“Come with me, then,” Baz replied, leaning down toward Simon and wrapping an arm around his waist. Simon was shirtless, his bare skin sticky and hot. Baz wasn’t the strong one. Simon was always the strong one. Now, though, Simon was as fragile and vulnerable as a child. He leaned into Baz’s touch and sagged like a rag doll. Baz flicked on the bedroom light, but kept the hall light off. “Quiet,” he told Simon. “Let’s not wake up Lucy.”

Simon sat down at the kitchen table while Baz started up the tea kettle at the stove. It was a cute little kettle, green and blue with flowers, that Baz had given Simon and Lucy after theirs broke last year. Daphne had said that it didn’t ‘fit the kitchen theme’. Baz whirled around and grabbed two mugs from the top shelf of the cupboard, then reached in the cupboard above the fridge and retrieved Simon’s favorite tea. He knew this kitchen.

“Honey spoon or sugar?” Baz asked Simon, gesturing toward the wrapped wooden spoons Lucy had picked up at the farmer’s market a while ago. They were covered in honey which melted as you stirred and tied shut with brown ribbon. Simon and Baz sometimes snuck them down and ate them like lollipops.

“Sugar,” Simon responded, his voice thin and weak and tired. Baz got down a honey spoon for himself and finished preparing the tea, taking the kettle off right before it started whistling.

The clink of the glasses on the table seemed to snap Simon out of whatever trance he’d been in. His eyes left the floor and flittled between the tea and Baz. Baz pushed one of the mugs toward him, and he took it gratefully, lifting it to his nose and inhaling deeply. The steam felt nice and comforting. “Thank you,” he said, giving Baz a smile.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Baz said, stirring his tea. He shifted a chair so it was facing Simon and sat down. “What was it about?”

“Dad.” Simon said, and that was enough. Davy had been a bad, bad man, and he’d left a long time ago. That was all Baz knew. The look in Simon’s eyes when he was mentioned, the anger in Lucy’s voice, the tension and fear that permeated their house at the slightest thought of him, was all the information Baz needed. Baz put a tentative hand on Simon’s knee.

“He’s gone.”

“Yeah,” Simon murmured. “But he’s always gonna be here. He’s half of me.” An unbidden tear slipped down the side of Simon’s nose, and he brushed it away angrily.

“He is  _ none _ of you,” Baz said, standing up and wrapping Simon in his arms in one fluid motion. Simon melted into Baz’s touch without a second thought, and he cried. “You’re so good, Simon. He is none of you.”

 

-

 

_ part four- tulip. declaration of love. _

 

That winter brought cold winds and cold hearts. Simon’s hair was long, brushing his shoulders, a halfhearted rebellion against Agatha for breaking his heart. He and Baz shared sweaters. They studied together. They prepared the garden for winter. They sipped hot cocoa on Simon’s porch. Simon came to all of Baz’s football games. Baz ached.

When Baz was little, he’d always dressed up for dinner, but in the years since Malcolm and Daphne had married, the household had softened, bit by bit. He came downstairs now in pajamas. The rest of the Grimm children filed down the stairs behind him and took their places at the table. 

“I’ve got something to tell you all,” Baz said, and it was met with blank stares from the kids, and a smile from Daphne. Staring at the empty plate in front of him, Baz said the words he’d never said out loud to anyone but the dark, alone in his room at night. “I’m gay.”

There were questions and there was confusion, but there was still food on the table. Still a kiss on the head from Daphne as she walked around the table to collect plates. A stiff but sweet smile from Malcolm at the end of the night. And when Mordelia came into his room like usual for homework help, she put her papers aside and curled up in Baz’s lap like she was nine rather than thirteen, like she used to a very long time ago.

“Baz?” she asked. Her hair was wet and smelled of green apple shampoo. She wore one of his t-shirts and it drooped almost to her knees. Baz suddenly felt very young. “Are you in love with Simon?”

Baz didn’t flinch at the question. “Yeah,” he said, confiding to his little sister what he could never confide to himself. “I think I am.”

“Thought so,” she said, wriggling off of his lap and giving him a pat on the hand. “I’ve got Algebra tonight, and I sort of want to die.”

“Don’t say that,” Baz laughed, patting the bed beside him. “I know how to do Algebra.”

 

-

 

The bark of the tree in the school’s courtyard was rough on Baz’s back. He had his Botany notes open in front of him and a ham sandwich, half finished, off to his right. Simon was out fake-sick and so he was eating lunch outside, trying to catch up on some missing homework. The day had been uneventful so far, but that changed when he saw Agatha Wellbelove sauntering up toward him.

It was a chilly March day, overcast, and her thin frame was wrapped in a soft-looking white woolen sweater and a chunky blue scarf. She walked with confidence-- she knew how gorgeous she was-- but a sort of meekness, too. Agatha was stunning, but approachable. There was true kindness in her heart. “Mind if I sit?” she asked, gesturing toward the ground next to Baz.

“Go ahead,” he said, moving his backpack over. She sat down cross-legged and leaned her hands on her chin. A strand of blonde hair blew across her face, and she let it stay there.

“You and Simon are together now, no?” she asked. Baz’s pencil slipped from between his fingers.

He cleared his throat. “N- um, no. We aren’t. Why would you ask?”

Agatha tilted her head. “Oh, well. I just thought you might be. You give off a vibe.”

“A  _ vibe? _ ” Baz stammered, more annoyed now than confused. What did she mean a vibe?

“A gay vibe. Are you gay? You’re gay. Am I wrong?”

“Well… no. But it’s none of your goddamn business, and I want nothing to do with your fake gaydar readings of me and Simon. We’re friends, okay? Is that illegal?”

“Of course not,” Agatha laughed, fishing her phone from the pocket of her jeans and typing without looking at the screen. “I’m queer, too, you know. I’m aroace. That’s why I broke up with Simon.”

“Oh.” Baz replied. 

“You don’t know what it means, do you?” Baz shook his head, and Agatha smiled. “It means I don’t like anyone romantically or sexually. I do love Simon, though. I was hoping you two were together. He really loves you. I want him to be happy.”

Baz could feel the blush on his cheeks, and he was hoping Agatha wouldn’t notice. “I want him to be happy, too.”

“He always thought you were way prettier than me, by the way. You were all he ever talked about. Baz this, Baz that. It was sort of sweet.” She made a move to stand up, but then turned back. “Listen, Baz.” Now she sounded less forward. “I think… I think that you would have a chance with Simon. If that’s what you wanted.” She put her phone back in her pocket, then stood up. “I just don’t want to see you guys miss out on the romance of the century. We’re all rooting for you.”

-

 

The knock on the door startled Baz out of his sleep. “Come in,” he called, confused, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair and pulling the covers up to his chin. Who the hell was knocking on his door at- he checked his phone- 6:03 in the morning? The door swung open, and the hallway light was blinding. It took Baz a minute before he made out that it was Simon at the door. In a party hat?

“ _ Happy birthday! _ ” he cried, and only then did Baz remember. He was turning seventeen today. April 19. The sudden sound of a kazoo and a party popper made Baz cover his ears. “You’re seventeen, practically an old man!” Simon plopped down on the bed and sat on Baz’s leg. He didn’t bother to move.

“But I thought you said you’d be out of town?” Baz asked. He shifted so he was sitting up, hyper-aware of the covers falling down to expose his bare shoulders and chest. He didn’t like being shirtless around Simon.

“Of course I did, you dolt,” Simon said with a grin, hooking a finger into the string of the party hat that was wrapped around his chin. “Wouldn’t be much of a surprise party if you were in on it.”

“Surprise party? What about school?”

“Yes, surprise party,” Simon confirmed. He ignored the second question. “So you’d better get dressed. I’ve got things planned. Bring good shoes for walking.” He tossed Baz a matching hat and winked. “Meet you downstairs in five.”

Baz blinked, hard, and struggled to extract himself from the cocoon of blankets he’d made. Good walking shoes? Surprise party? Things planned? He rifled through his closet before slipping on a t-shirt and a red flannel. Did he even have good walking shoes? He sighed and went downstairs.

Simon had gotten a car the month prior, a beat up Ford Focus, and he dragged Baz by the hand across the lawn toward it. “Get in,” he said, hopping into the drivers’ seat and buckling up.

“Where are we going?” Baz asked as Simon pulled out of the driveway. He took a left turn, the way opposite the school. “Don’t you have a Trig test?”

“We’re skipping, duh,” Simon retorted, glancing from the road toward Baz for a minute. His eyes danced with mischief. “And obviously it’s a surprise. Oh, but there’s something for you in the backseat.”

In the backseat of Simon’s dirty, cluttered car sat a delicate looking, pale blue box tied with black ribbon. It was about small, about the size of Baz’s hand. He reached for it, holding it gingerly, and brought it onto his lap. He noticed the lace details etched into the sides of the box. It was so elegant and beautiful that he couldn’t believe Simon had picked it. “Is this from Lucy?”

Simon feigned offense. “Um, no, dumbass. It’s from me. Go on, open it.”

Baz untied the ribbon and tucked it into the front of his shirt, then lifted the top off the box. There was a mess of tissue paper, and then a tiny wooden carving. It was intricate and beautiful, showing two boys-- them, Baz realized-- standing in front of a fence. The wooden Baz held a trowel and the wooden Simon had a hand on his shoulder. The ground underneath them was painted green with dots of blue, yellow, and red flowers. There were even small freckles painted onto Simon’s face. Baz felt tears prick at his eyes. “Did you… did you make this?”

“Not to brag, but it took months. Literal months. I took a wood carving class on Tuesdays in the basement of the university to make this for you. I was surrounded by sixty year old sweaty men. I toiled and sweat over the stripes in that sweater you’re wearing.” Simon’s face was bright red when he turned to Baz. “I’m so, so glad you like it.” Then, in the spur of the moment, he reached over and squeezed Baz’s leg.

Baz’s hand found Simon’s, rested tentatively on top of it, before Simon turned his hand palm-up and laced his fingers in between Baz’s. They fit together so nicely. They shared a smile before Baz, red-cheeked and shaky, took his hand away. “Thank you,” he said, holding in a sob. “Thank you so much.”

 

-

 

It was a long drive. They rolled down the windows and blasted bad pop music, the wind tousling their hair and livening their spirits. Underneath them, the road got worse and worse until the car was bumping along more often than it was going smoothly. The forest got dense and the traffic grew sparse. Baz sang along to Kelly Clarkson until his voice was hoarse, and Simon mimed Bruno Mars impeccably. Finally, the car came to a stop.

The air smelled fresher here. No longer was the sky the dim violet of early morning. Instead, in between branches, it burned bright blue and cloudless. “This is it,” Simon exclaimed, stepping out of the car and stretching his arms above his head. A sliver of his stomach was visible at the bottom of his t-shirt, a tiny pudge and a smattering of freckles. Baz felt his face go hot once again. 

“What are we here for?” He asked, following as Simon started up a path that Baz hadn’t noticed before. Everything around them was lush and green. The rocks were covered in soft cushions of moss and overhead was a thick canopy of trees, swaying softly in the breeze, whispering secrets into the air.

“I’m going to take you somewhere my mom took me when I was really little, right after Dad left,” Simon said. “It was the happiest day of my life. And I’ve brought a picnic.” He patted his backpack. “I really think you’ll love it.”

“Is it a far walk?” Baz asked, quickening his pace. He was taller, but he moved languidly, and Simon was already several steps ahead of him.

“Not too far. Two miles, maybe. You’ll be fine. I’ve got waters.” Above them birds chirped, a sweet and happy sound. Baz smiled without realizing it. 

 

-

 

A huge clearing stretched out in front of them, covered in thick green grasses and tiny white mayflowers. In the middle was a small, clear pond, fluffy clouds reflected in the gently swirling surface. There was a small bunch of bright-colored tulips on the edge of the pond closest to them. Simon walked toward the tulips and swung his backpack off his shoulder, tugging out a blue blanket that Baz recognized as his comforter. He held back a laugh as Simon spread it down over the ground. “You really brought everything, didn’t you?”

“Did you expect anything less?” Baz sat on the blanket and crossed his legs out in front of him. A lazy bee tumbled out of the tallest tulip and bumbled along for a minute before disappearing into the grass. Simon pulled sodas and sandwiches from his bag, along with a tupperware container of Lucy’s homemade chocolate oatmeal cookies-- Baz’s favorite. Baz popped off the top and took one.

“It’s really lovely here,” he told Simon, brushing the crumbs off his lap. Baz shrugged his flannel off, feeling the sunlight on the back of his neck and his arms.

“It definitely is,” Simon agreed. “We planted those tulips, you know. Me and Mum. And I was thinking about being happy, and thinking about gardens-- of course that sounds just like you.” He snapped the top off a piece of grass and fiddled around with it. “Mom said she wanted to start a new life, right? And what better way to do that than to literally start new life. With the flowers, I mean. And she thought they might die, you know, with us not coming back every day to take care of them. But we came back and they’d grown. And every year they grew back, bigger and bigger, and more and more of them. When we planted them, I ran around in the field and I tried to catch frogs. I was a muddy mess and I ruined the seat of the car. We were both covered in dirt. But Mum was laughing.”

“Thanks for tak-” Baz started, but Simon held up a finger.

“I’m- I’ve gotta. Um. Let me finish. Can you? Sorry.”

“No, no, go ahead. I thought you were done.”

Simon drummed his fingers on his knee. He didn’t meet Baz’s gaze. “That was rude, sorry.”

“It wasn’t,” Baz assured. Simon nodded, head still down.

“I wasn’t that happy again for a while. ‘Til we moved in next door, and I had no friends at this school, and barely any friends at my old school anyway, and I was sure it was going to be just as bad here as it was there. And suddenly this scrawny boy is throwing rocks at my window and he asks me to plant a garden. A new start. Just like here, just like with Mom. And I knew we were going to be close. I knew because I was so happy.” Simon glanced up at Baz through his eyelashes.

“And I was right. And our garden got bigger, just like the tulips.” He reached out brushed his fingers against one of the petals. “It got bigger, and I got happier, and it was all because of you. Because of Mom, too, and because of you. You’re the two people I love most in the world.” Simon looked out toward the lake. His fingers clenched in a fist. “And I do. Love you. I love you. I mean, I love being your friend. I don’t want this to make things weird, you know, if you don’t feel the same way or anything. But… I love you as more than a friend. You’re so funny, and kind, and you’re always there for me. You’re so beautiful, and so smart, and so…. so….” He paused, then swallowed. “You’re everything, Baz. You’re everything to me.”

Baz reached out his hand and touched Simon’s cheek. They met eyes, and Baz felt a beaming smile coming across his face. “I love you too, Simon. I have forever.” 

Simon smiled back, blinking away tears, and grabbed onto Baz’s knee, hard, steeling himself. He pressed a kiss to Baz’s forehead, then his cheek. They sat nose to nose, forehead to forehead, eyes closed, just listening to the sounds of spring around them, the scent of tulips blowing freely in the breeze, life flourishing and moving everywhere. Baz leaned forward and kissed Simon, tender and sweet, tucking a strand of curly hair behind Simon’s ear. He smiled into the kiss. This was the way things were supposed to be.


End file.
